OK, so maybe it’s not really new. But a New York Times article I read today made me realize how much I believe it, and how seldom I see it.
My New Rule For Selling Things boils down to this:
And herewith, the muse of my revelation – from the Dining & Wine Section:
In the Dairy Case, Ripe Prose
by Jeff Gordinier – published Monday, January 22 2013
They can tell you about torment. They can describe long, frustrating hours sitting in dark, stinky basements and caves, pen in hand, trying to get the flow of the words just right. They can tell you, too, about how it feels to be engulfed in a blaze of inspiration. They’ll describe the delirium of bliss when the right lines come. Like all writers, they are keenly aware of the competition, and envy eats away at them when they detect, in one of their comrades, a candle-flicker of genius.
We speak, naturally, of cheesemongers.
Although not universally acknowledged as members of New York’s creative class, the people who sell cheese arguably deserve a place of recognition alongside the poets and the playwrights, the folk singers and the indie screenwriters. In case you haven’t noticed, some of the most amusing and captivating writing in the city is being produced in the service of cheese.